Tuesday, April 27, 2010
I used to love yoga. I was never very good at it, but I really, really loved it. I loved how classes were paced, I loved how poses opened up my body, I loved how I felt after a class. I mostly took vinyasa, or "flow" yoga classes, as most people did, and I tried to ignore it when, in the late 90s early aughts, yoga classes got competitive. I just tried to opt out, I took basic classes, then I moved to Philadelphia and started taking classes with Joan White, one of the most experienced and respected Iyengar yoga teachers in the country and her attention to form and discipline just blew open my yoga world and really changed how I approached the practice. Then, I had kids. Then, I hurt my wrist (Four years later I can't put any weight on it). Then, I realized that when all was said and done, a yoga class takes at least two and a half hours, which mostly I don't have. Now, it's been years since I've been in a yoga class, and while I miss it, I don't miss it as much as I once thought I would. The whole yoga thing, as this Jezebel post explains, it can just be too much, which is too bad, but there it is.